Pass the DNA, Please

By now everyone who watches the news has heard of "Ida," the fossil that humanist scientists are breathlessly proclaiming as a possible missing link in the evolutionary chain.

In a story by Allie Martin at OneNewsNow, she reported that "scientists in New York unveiled what they described as the missing link in human evolution, a fossilized skeleton reportedly 47 million years old. They said the creature -- nicknamed "Ida" -- had four legs and a long tail, was about the size of a small cat, and had human-like nails instead of claws, along with a bone in her foot that is similar to humans."

This story reminds me of the hoopla a couple of years ago when scientists who were studying the genome of some ape made the astonishing announcement that the animal's DNA was 99% the same as a human's, thereby proving the truth of evolution.

Imagine that! Who woulda thunk it? Wow, another brilliant victory for modern science! Joe the Bartender could have looked at an ape and a human and guessed that there was a lot of common DNA happening there. Are we to jump to the conclusion that because God created things that were similar that one must have evolved from the other?

Let us consider the puzzle of the lime and lemon. I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I would be willing to bet my "Yes We Can" campaign button that if Mr. Scientist was to analyze the DNA of a lime and lemon, we would be hitting right around that magic 99% similarity mark.

So now we have to wonder, which came first: the lime or the lemon? Hokey smokes, Bullwinkle, with that 99% common DNA thing happening, something must have evolved from something! And don't even get me started on horses and zebras!

It takes more blind faith for a humanist to swallow the circular logic of evolutionary theory than it does for me as a Christian to just believe what God has told me. It makes perfect sense to me that in a world created with every conceivable type of animal and plant life, there will be some creatures with similar characteristics. Like any creative person, God often uses variations on a theme.

Of course if you're walking blind, without God, you have to concoct some kind of worldview that helps you make sense of all this natural splendor. That's how you stumble into worshiping the creation instead of the creator.

Looking For Yourself?

I recently read another story of someone’s search for their roots. Syndicated columnist Leonard Pitts made a trip to Africa, as he put it, “Looking for heritage.”

I don't fault anyone who is curious about their heritage, but in the grand scope of eternity, where you have come from means very little. What really matters is where are you now…and where you are going.

By the grace of God, I am going to spend eternity in heaven. This never ceases to amaze me. Despite the fact that I am a sinful, flawed, short-tempered, moody, sometimes foul-mouthed and often unpleasant person, I have been invited into the Kingdom of God.

Imagine a schmuck like me being adopted by the creator of the universe! This is not because of anything good in me, but because of his great love and mercy. And since he is no respecter of persons, God extends this invitation of eternal life to anyone who will turn to him, in humility and respect, and seek his forgiveness.

If you are searching for the meaning of your life; If you are trying to find yourself; If you want to know your purpose and your destiny — there is only one place to go, and that is to the throne of God, the creator of YOU, who holds the answers to all of your questions about life. The only way to really find yourself is to find HIM, and let him take over the management of your life.

The Bible tells us that we are all born with a sinful nature, and that it is impossible for us to please God. We are lost, and separated from God by our sin. Hell is our default destination. That is why Jesus took it upon himself to become one of us, to live among us, to suffer and die for us. Jesus took the debt of our sin upon himself. His suffering and sacrifice satisfied God's judgment against us.

The only way to get to heaven is to follow Jesus there. Because of his unique access to the Father, there is no other way for us to be accepted by God. That is why he made such emphatic statements like, "No one comes to the Father except through me," and, "Unless a man is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God."

This kind of talk makes a lot of people mad. We are stubborn creatures, and we want to do things our own way. We don't like anybody, even God, telling us what to do. It almost sounds un-American, giving up your independence like that. That's why so many people try to pretend that God doesn't exist. They just don't want to admit that he's the boss - perhaps if they ignore him, he will just leave them alone.

Others think that somehow they can earn their way to heaven if their good deeds outnumber their sins and they try to "live a good life." But to think this way is akin to mocking Jesus while he hung on the cross. He did not allow himself to be crucified on a whim. He endured that awful torture because he knew it was the only thing that could save us. It is the ultimate insult to God to discount the salvation that Jesus suffered so much to purchase for us.

There is only one logical thing for you to do. Stop whatever your're doing, right now, and do some serious business with God before it is too late. It is time for you to ask Jesus to be your Savior and Lord.

Coming to Jesus means that you admit you need His forgiveness. You make a commitment that you want to follow him. When you repent, and give your life to him, his spirit comes to live within you, and you are born again. He forgives every sin that was held against you, and guarantees your citizenship in heaven. Not because you deserve it, but because Jesus paid a debt that you could not afford.

As if that wasn't enough, Jesus also promises to walk with you and guide your life. He sticks with you, as your Savior and Lord, for all of eternity. If you are wise enough to obediently follow him, he will lead you into a life that is filled with purpose and service.

Your walk with Christ will take you through sorrows and joys, trials and victories, and persecution for the sake of His name. Is it easy? No. Is it always fun? No. Is it worth it? Absolutely!

Jesus once said, “For everyone who tries to save his life will lose it; but he who loses his life for my sake will find it.”

Unintended Consequences

There are unintended consequences to everything the government does. A recent chance conversation illustrates this point.

An acquaintance was telling me about her son, and his live-in girlfriend, and how they had been planning to get married this summer. However, the girlfriend recently discovered she was pregnant, so now the wedding is postponed.

Postponed? That seems counter-intuitive. Normally an unplanned pregnancy would accelerate wedding plans - but not in the age of Nanny Government. You see, as a single mother, this girl is eligible for a whole slew of government benefits - handouts she would not receive if she was married.

There is no reason her boyfriend can't step up to the plate and take financial responsibility for his child. But why should he? We have inculcated a whole generation with the idea that you should let the government take care of your problems. You won't be held accountable for your actions, because Nanny will be there to bail you out.

This couple could get married. They could pay their own way. People have done it for centuries without government assistance. Instead, they will take the path of least resistance, and become moochers at the government trough. You and I (assuming you are a productive, tax-paying member of society) get to pay for their prenatal care, hospital bills, formula, diapers, and on and on and on.

We have, in effect, discouraged this young couple from getting married. Nanny Government has become the surrogate father. Instead of encouraging responsibility, we are breeding dependence and immaturity.

How long can we continue this madness of rewarding people for making bad choices? How long can we keep taking away from responsible people so that irresponsible people can avoid the consequences of their actions?

Government assistance should be reserved for people who really need help. Our current welfare policies create a climate that does more to enable irresponsible behavior than it does to support the truly needy.

The entitlement mentality that now corrodes our culture explains why a junior senator, with no real world management experience, could become President of the United States. Barack Obama told everyone what they wanted to hear. The government is going to take care of you. We're going to spread the wealth around.

I will give President Obama credit. He told us what he planned to do, and he is busting his hump to get it done. We are rapidly becoming a socialist welfare state, with enough debt accumulating to crush any hope our children may have for a chance at prosperity. Nanny Government is spending money as fast as it can be printed.

And, inevitably, we all will eventually suffer from the unintended consequences.

The Birds, The Bees...and Me

(Reader alert: This column is rated R for sexual content and coarse language. You have been warned. Do not complain to me later if you continue.)

When you’re a kid, all you know is what you know.

If nobody has told you anything; if you haven’t studied it at school; if a topic has not been clearly explained to you by someone you trust – well, you just don’t know then, do you?

Looking back, I am amazed how clueless I was about sex as a young child. I have always liked girls (I even managed to get in trouble in first grade for necking with Becky Johnson in the back seat of the school bus) but for a long time in my youth I was blissfully unaware of the particulars of human sexuality.

I can remember my parents and grandparents sitting around the kitchen table, drinking and telling jokes that they all thought were hilarious, which I, of course, didn’t understand. I can also remember some of the bigger boys at school (those intimidating 6th graders!) making crude references to body parts, which I, again, did not understand.

I was smart enough to know that there was something I didn’t know, but not smart enough to figure out what it was.

I recall once in fourth grade hearing an older boy call another boy a name that I later learned is slang for an organ on the male body. I did not know what he was talking about at the time. Later, at home, when I asked my mom, “What’s a !@#!?,” she flushed with embarrassment and mumbled something to me about it meaning that someone is a cheapskate.

So I, being young, ignorant and trusting, believed what my mother told me.

About a week later, the grownups were sitting around the kitchen table, drinking and talking, and I asked my grandpa to give me a dime so I could go to the store and get some candy. He denied my request, and said something about me needing to learn the value of money. I’ll leave it to your imagination, dear reader, to picture the look on his face when I jokingly said, “Grandpa, you’re a big !@#!”

For that matter, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on my mom’s face, either.

Even worse, when my grandpa finally caught his breath and was able to speak, and asked me, “What did you say?” – I repeated it.

Later that evening, my dad had a long talk with me, and among other things, made me promise that all future vocabulary questions be directed towards him.

About a year later I was still pretty ignorant. One day in fifth grade, our teacher was telling a story in religion class (at St. Roch’s we had a religion class every day) about a young unwed mother, and all of the complications in her life as a result of her sin. I listened to this for a while, but became perplexed, because we had previously been told that babies come from God.

So I raised my hand in class, and asked the teacher why that unwed mother should feel bad, since she couldn’t help it if God had decided to give her that baby before she got married. I knew right away, from all of the giggling, that I had said something stupid, but again, I wasn’t smart enough to know what it was. (This has been a recurring problem my whole life, by the way, but that’s another column.)

Unbeknown to me, the teacher called my parents that evening, told them what happened in class, and suggested that they have a talk with me about the facts of life.

We were a large family living in a small house, so it was hard to find time for private conversations. My parents decided that the best way to talk to me alone would be to wait until all of us children had gone to sleep, then wake me up for “the talk” while my younger brothers and sisters were in dreamland.

So it happened that late one evening I was awakened from a sound sleep, led into the living room, and seated across the coffee table from my parents. I could tell they were uncomfortable. They hemmed and hawed and beat around the bush, asking me if I had any questions about girls. I was still half asleep, wondering what the heck was going on here, and why was mom blushing?

Before long they got on with the program, and they were showing me anatomy diagrams from some big book, and explaining how moms and dads who love each other can have sex and make babies…well, you know the drill. I was doing my best to keep up, still being sleepy and all, but when they got down to the real nitty-gritty about the mechanics involved, I just was not connecting.

This all sounded kind of rough to me, trying to look at it from the female’s perspective. For some reason I had this mental image of the girl being hurt by all of this probing activity. I was thinking about pain and ripping flesh and bruising. I just couldn’t get past this idea of force, and I thought, why would a girl ever want to do this?

The more I questioned their explanations, the more embarrassed my mom became. I could tell that dad was getting frustrated, since he kept getting louder, somehow believing that would help me to understand. They kept trying to explain things to me, and I just was not grasping the concept. I thought mom was going to cry. Dad was getting so loud I was afraid he would wake up the whole house, and I was already embarrassed enough.

They were pitching, but I wasn’t catching.

Finally, in exasperation, my dad threw has hands up, and then slammed them down onto the coffee table. He glared at me, with his jaw clenched, and said, “Dammit son! When you eat a banana, do you force it into your mouth?”

At that moment, the scales fell from my eyes. I finally saw the light, and my expression of comprehension must have been revealing, because I swear my mom let out an audible sigh of relief. This whole ordeal had been rough on her.

Dad wanted to follow up and make sure I was connecting. “Do you get it now, son?” he asked, in a conciliatory tone.

“Yeah, dad, I understand. Can I go back to bed now?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people so happy to end a conversation in my entire life. They both hugged me. “Go back to bed, Davey. If you have any more questions later, just come and ask us.”

Right…like I’d ever get into this discussion with them again!

Looking back, though, I do have to give my parents credit. They did make a sincere effort to talk to me about a very important subject. They could have thought it through a bit more, but their hearts were in the right place. Too many parents neglect their duty to help their children understand and navigate some of the more complicated issues in life, sex being at the top of that list.

So, patient reader, indulge me here while I make a posthumous testimonial: “Thanks, mom and dad. I miss you both. Thanks for doing your best to help me grow up. You weren’t perfect, but neither was I. Thanks for having your hearts in the right place.”

“I can’t help but think of you every time I walk through the produce aisle.”

The Greatest Gift

Mom died way too young. She was only 46 when a brain tumor choked the life out of her.

She started having terrible headaches around the time of Thanksgiving in 1981. The doctors found her tumor right after Christmas. She died on March 5, 1982.

My youngest sister is faithful about visiting her grave every Mother’s Day, and she always brings flowers. I am more hit or miss. Sometimes visiting that grave just makes me too sad. I prefer to think about happier memories.

Nancy Jo Hopkins was a small town girl, born in Connersville, Indiana, smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression. Her family nicknamed her "Pigtails" thanks to her favorite hairstyle. On Sundays she would walk downtown with her brother to go to the movies. She loved Roy Rogers. I'm told she was an excellent dancer, and taught ballet lessons when she was a teenager. I can remember, when I was little, watching mom practice her pirouettes in the living room.

She moved to Indianapolis after graduating from Connersville High School. She found a job as a clerk with the Fort Benjamin Harrison Army Finance Center.

In the autumn of 1953, Mom’s older sister, Alice, had a date with a young man named Howard Smith. Alice and Howard didn't hit it off, but Howard took a serious interest in Alice’s baby sister Nancy. They went on a whirlwind courtship that lasted a whopping three months before they decided to get married in January of 1954.

I came along in late November of 1954, becoming the oldest of six children to be born in a twelve-year span to this fertile young woman. Mom always told us that the best she ever felt was when she was pregnant. She never complained of morning sickness, and when I was older, and she was carrying my younger brothers, I never noticed her condition slowing her down much. She was born to breed.

There were a lot of advantages we lacked growing up, but I am eternally grateful for one thing we absolutely did have – a kind mother who loved us. I can still remember lying on the couch, watching TV, with my head in mom’s lap. She would stroke my fuzzy crew cut with one hand while munching popcorn with the other.

Mom was a soft touch. If you every needed a hug, she had one. If you were upset, she was there to listen. She loved her kids, and she would bend over backwards for any of us.

If she had a fault, it was that she was too easy on us. Looking back, I realize now that we took advantage of her easy nature. We should have helped her more around the house. She did all the shopping, cooking, cleaning, and laundry for a family of eight. She was a busy woman.

I do think my sisters helped with the housework when they got older, but all I can ever remember us boys doing was messing up the place.

To my shame, there were times as a child when I complained about her cooking, or something she forgot to get for me at the store, or some other childish desire I had that she had not fulfilled to my satisfaction. In my youthful ignorance, I did not fully appreciate the gift God had given me – a kind mother who loved me.

One of the many bad things about losing a mother so young is that you haven’t had time to grow up enough to truly appreciate her. If she had lived longer, reality would have had more time to catch up with us children, and we could have expressed to her how grateful we were for her love and nurturing.

Mom has grandchildren now who have only a vague fuzzy remembrance of a petite woman with dark hair. They have been denied the pleasure of growing to know a woman who would have been an outstanding grandmother, and who no doubt would have spoiled them with kindness just as she did her own children.

My greatest consolation is that I know mom became a Christian shortly before she died. Mom was a good woman, and had believed in God all of her life, but she had never been born again. She had never made the decision to repent and surrender her life to God. But in the spring of 1981, before she became ill, we sat down one day at her kitchen table and she asked me to lead her in a prayer of repentance. At the age of 45, mom finally knelt before the King of creation, and asked Jesus to become her Lord and Savior.

So I have a fantastic reunion to look forward to. There are a lot of people I want to visit when I step into eternity, but the first person I’ll be looking for is mom, and I have no doubt she’ll be waiting for me. I may even just lay my head in her lap for old times’ sake.

And then I will be sure to thank the Lord, face to face, for giving my siblings and me the greatest gift God can give someone on this earth – a kind mother who loved us.